


Someone

by consultingcriminal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Captain kink, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Smut, Uni!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4519188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingcriminal/pseuds/consultingcriminal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson had his eye on someone. He had his eye on a very particular someone. This someone invaded his dreams and his every thought. This someone was the most beautiful person John had ever seen. And John knew he'd not stop until he had him.<br/>I saw something along the lines of Sherlock and John shagging in the changing rooms with Sherlock calling John captain somewhere online but I don't know who actually did it so I'm super sorry but please let me know if the credit is owed to you for the rather sexy idea. It was driving me insane for so long, I had to write it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone

**Author's Note:**

> As most of my solely smutty stories go it's kind of badly written but that's okay (I think) because you get the idea. :P

John Watson had his eye on someone. He had his eye on a very particular someone. This someone invaded his dreams and his every thought. This someone was the most beautiful person John had ever seen. And John knew he'd not stop until he had him. 

He was in a few of John's classes, this someone. He sat in the back of the room, never taking notes, and most of the time, not even listening to what was being said. John could've sworn he was an angel - his appearance suggested that itself. His hair fell in perfect, bouncy curls, and his cheekbones were sharp behind his porcelain skin. His eyes were an indescribable bluish green, which were ever-calculating and beautiful. From behind his Cupid bow lips came a deep, smooth voice which rapidly spilled words. He didn't seem the type to approach others, nor did others approach him, and John could sense the man's reluctance. He seemed to just want to learn, although he did indulge in correcting the professors every now and then, but he was the only person who had ever caught John's attention. 

John himself was the captain of the Baskerville College rugby team. He was well liked around the campus, and tried to make friends with people he met. It was easy enough for John; he was a likeable person. He was too attractive for his own good, with dirty blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He was short but well built, and his friends knew him to be loyal and funny. Passing by this beautiful someone (whose name John didn't know), John would smile at him. He'd receive a look, not a smile, just an even look, and then that someone would continue on his way, looking as though he had a million other places to be. John didn't doubt that he had. 

For some reason, John wanted to know all about this someone. He wanted to know his name, why he was at Baskerville, what type of music he liked, and why he always wore formal attire. John wanted to see his parents, see the people who bought that someone up and made him the undeniable gentleman he was (in appearance more so than in character). Did he have brothers? Sisters? John found himself entirely enthralled with this someone, and he hadn't spoken a word to him. 

It was late on a Thursday night when John got back to Baskerville from the pub. He wasn't drunk, by any means, he'd just enjoyed a good night out socialising with his friend Mike Stamford. He made his way through the dorm, upstairs towards his room. He was almost there when he bumped into someone, sending their skinny frame to the ground. "Excuse you," the person muttered from the floor, not seeing who he was talking to. John stiffened and looked down at the person he'd unintentionally knocked over. 

"Sorry," he laughed nervously, extending a hand to the very specific someone he'd been so dying to talk to. 

The beautiful, beautiful man looked up at him and reluctantly took his hand. John pulled him to his feet with ease, but didn't let go of his hand when he was upright. Instead, he continued to look at that someone who looked back at him through slightly hooded eyes. 

"What's your name?" John asked him, voice hoarse. His touch was electrifying, sending shocks of warmth through John's body. Judging by that someone's hitch in breath, he felt it too. 

Finally that 'someone' had a name. "Sherlock," he breathed. "Sherlock Holmes." It was fitting. An elegant and beautiful name which suited him perfectly. 

"It's very nice to meet you, Sherlock," John said quietly, looking from Sherlock's lips back to his eyes. "I'm John Watson." 

"I know," he heard Sherlock say under his breath. Sherlock cleared his throat. "I-I need to go. I have to go finish some lab work. I-" 

"It's alright," John laughed. "But hey, before you go, I have a rugby game tomorrow, you should come watch." 

"Watch you play rugby?" Sherlock said slowly. 

"Yes," John said. "If you want to. It'd be cool." 

Sherlock nodded. "Al-alright." 

"Great, I'll see you then. Six o'clock. Bye, Sherlock." 

"Bye," Sherlock said before adding, "John." 

John watched as Sherlock walked away, his coat billowing behind him, giving him an additional mysteriousness that John longed to inspect. 

******* 

Sherlock walked down to the rugby field at six-thirty the next evening. Admittedly, he'd not intended to be so late to the game. He didn't know how long it went for, or how much longer it had to go, but he figured to show up and humour John Watson. _'What am I doing here?' _Sherlock asked himself, feeling decidedly out of place among the other Baskerville students.__

Sherlock quickly found John's position on the field. He was playing number fifteen, and his forehead shone with sweat under the lights which shone upon the area. He was so unbelievably alluring, that John Watson. He'd no idea how long Sherlock had yearned for him. Now here he was, Sherlock Holmes, watching the man playing rugby upon his own invite. Sherlock Holmes had been invited by the rugby captain to watch him play. 

_'Don't fool yourself, Sherlock,' _he told himself. _'It's John Watson. He's nice to everyone. He was just being nice to you.' _The thought stuck with Sherlock for the rest of the game as he tried to make sense of just what John - or really rather any of the players -were doing on the field.____

John ran with the ball and dived onto the ground. The Baskerville students cheered. Sherlock assumed John had done something right. It repeated over and over again, with some Baskerville student getting tries, and Sherlock tried to get interested. 

After another fifty minutes of playing, the players of both teams shook hands and took to their changing rooms. Apparently Baskerville won. Not that that surprised Sherlock, he knew John was an exceptional player at any rate. The curly-haired man didn't know what to do as the crowds dispersed. Should he stay or should he go? After about twenty minutes of thinking about it, he turned to leave when he felt a hand on his wrist. "Hey." 

Sherlock turned to see John standing there smiling at him expectantly. He was covered in grass stains, mud, and sweat, and Sherlock found it to be quite possibly the most sexiest thing he'd ever seen. He swallowed hard. "Hi." 

John let go of Sherlock's wrist. "The boys are all going to their rooms now to get cleaned up and then they're hitting the town," John explained. 

"Oh, alright," Sherlock said awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. 

"But I'm going back to the changing rooms, if you wanted to come with me?" 

Sherlock was about to say _'No, it's fine, I'll just leave,' _but upon seeing the look in John's eyes, which burned with a sort of hunger, suggesting he didn't just want to talk to Sherlock, Sherlock couldn't bear to say no. "Sure, that sounds good."__

Sherlock followed John beneath the gap in the benches to the changing rooms. He watched as John's muscles moved underneath his tight rugby shirt, and admired John's self-confidence. For a fleeting moment, Sherlock wondered just what he was about to do with Captain John Watson of the Baskerville rugby team. 

As John had suggested, the changing rooms were empty as the two entered them. John turned to Sherlock, and Sherlock stopped walking to look at him. John took off his shirt, and Sherlock couldn't help but look at his chiselled torso. His body was tanned and well-defined, and Sherlock fought the urge to drool. When he looked back up, John was giving him the same hungry look as before. In unison, the two stepped forward. Sherlock was the one to initiate the kiss, pressing his lips to John's roughly, tangling his fingers into John's hair while John clutched onto Sherlock's waist. 

John directed the taller man backwards so his back hit the concrete wall, and proceeded to pull Sherlock's trousers down. Sherlock watched as John knelt down in front of him, using his teeth to pull Sherlock's pants down, making them pool around his ankles along with his trousers. Sherlock's erection -which had begun basically as soon as John had grabbed his wrist that evening- sprung up, and he moaned as the air hit the warmth of his length. 

"You look... Delicious, Sherlock," John growled, blowing on Sherlock's penis. 

Sherlock groaned and fought the urge to stick his hips out impatiently. John seemed to sense this, and immediately wrapped his mouth around Sherlock. "Fuck," Sherlock breathed, tangling his fingers into John's hair once again. 

John expertly worked his mouth around Sherlock's penis, licking and sucking when appropriate, drawing back and taking Sherlock in deeper when he felt Sherlock was on edge. He'd imagined having Sherlock in his mouth for so long, and he savoured the moment while he had it, least he woke up to discover it was all a dream. He grabbed Sherlock's hips and quickly directed their thrust into and out of his mouth. 

"Ooh, Captain!" Sherlock groaned. John looked up at Sherlock, whose eyes were closed in pleasure, his lips slightly parted. John felt his own erection harden even more, and he hastily pulled down his rugby shorts and pants to begin rubbing himself. Sherlock was so unbelievably hot, and John felt he would burst if he didn't get off, if he didn't get Sherlock off. He pulled off of Sherlock's penis quickly and lifted himself up to kiss Sherlock again. 

His tongue invaded Sherlock's mouth as he rocked his hips against the taller man's, their members rubbing against each other's deliciously. They both grunted in unison at the beautiful friction between the two of them. 

"Fuck, Sherlock. I want to strip you of all your clothes and fuck you into oblivion," John growled hotly. 

"Please do," Sherlock said, grabbing John's balls in his hand, squeezing gently. 

John grabbed Sherlock's hips and pulled him up. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's waist as he kissed his neck, breathing in the smell of grass upon John's skin. The latter man kneaded Sherlock's thighs, feeling Sherlock's penis hard against his stomach, and knew he'd not last long. He pushed Sherlock against the wall for additional support. 

"Here," he said, holding out his hand. "Spit." 

Sherlock spat into John's hand, gazing at the rugby captain all the while. John used the spit as natural lubricant, using it to gently insert a finger into Sherlock. Sherlock moaned almost immediately. 

"Hmm, you've done this before, haven't you, Sherlock?" John whispered hoarsely into Sherlock's ear. "I bet you've fingered yourself, haven't you?" Sherlock nodded, grunting again as John's finger brushed against his prostate. 

"Yes, Captain." 

" _'Yes, Captain' _? You like that, do you? You like the fact that you've been driving the rugby captain crazy huh? And now you're going to make love to him in the changing room."__

"Mm," Sherlock breathed, running his hands over John's chests, cataloging each of John's muscles, their hardness, and how long it took for John to get them. 

John added another finger, scissoring Sherlock, allowing him to get used to the feeling. "How does it feel, Baby?" John asked. 

"Good. It's alright," he breathed, unable to focus. His mind was racing and his thoughts were jumbled. The only thing he could think was 'John.' "Please, John," Sherlock moaned. "I can't take it much longer." 

John moaned and kissed Sherlock again, unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. "Do you want this?" 

"More than anything," Sherlock gasped. 

John smiled against Sherlock's neck as he pinned him to the wall, wrapping the taller man's legs around his waist. Sherlock gasped again as the coldness of the wall hit his back through his shirt. "I'll be good to you," John promised, his voice hoarse. "I promise." 

Sherlock grunted impatiently, and John chuckled. He lined himself up, and gently pressed against Sherlock, and the latter pushed back against him. John slowly inserted himself into Sherlock, being hit with immediate tightness and warmth. Both grunted simultaneously. 

Sherlock pulled John in close, kissing him with a hunger he'd never before experienced. John pressed his tongue into the curly-haired man's mouth. Sherlock tasted of cigarettes and coffee, which was a surprisingly delicious combination. It was very Sherlock-y, and John couldn't imagine Sherlock's mouth tasting of anything else. John rested one hand against the wall, with his other hand on Sherlock's waist to support his weight, and began gently rocking in and out of Sherlock. 

"How does that feel?" John asked. He wanted to make sure it would be as enjoyable for Sherlock as it already was for him. 

Sherlock nodded encouragingly. "Mm, more." 

John increased his speed slightly, knowing that if anyone were to walk in on them at that moment, they'd both be in dire straits. But the two were past caring, so full of a certain something that neither of them could understand. Their bare chests were pressed together, their breath mingled as one as John increased his speed, hitting Sherlock's prostate with each thrust. 

John groaned as Sherlock tangled his fingers into his short dirty blonde hair, pulling his head to the side, sucking at John's neck passionately. "Fuck, Sherlock, you're so good," John sighed, moving faster. He and Sherlock groaned in unison. 

If Sherlock had heard just hours earlier that he'd be shagging the rugby captain in the changing rooms, he'd have laughed and assumed he was finally going crazy. But now it was happening, and it was the realest thing he'd ever experienced. He was really having sex with John, and he was really, really enjoying it. 

John shifted slightly, changing the position altogether. His legs were beginning to hurt, and they were tired after the game. John almost questioned why he'd taken Sherlock standing up. Almost. 

"Oh, Captain!" Sherlock cried out, feeling the pleasure building inside of him with every stroke of John's member inside him. 

John growled into Sherlock's hair as he pushed harder. "That's right, Baby, say my name." He grabbed Sherlock's erection and began jerking him in time to his own movements. 

"Uh-uh, Captain, oh, please," Sherlock pleaded, not really knowing what he wanted. 

"I could treat you so well, Sherlock. We could do this after each game this season. And next. Shit, we could come do this every fucking night if you wanted." 

" _Ngh, _oh, _fuck _me, Captain."____

John looked at Sherlock, seeing the way he had his head leaning against the wall behind him. His eyes were closed again, those heavenly lips parted, a chorus of moans and groans and praises dripping from his mouth. His curls bounced with the movement of John's thrusts, and sweat formed on his forehead and chest. "You're so fucking beautiful," John growled earnestly. Really, he was. Sherlock Holmes was perfection, in a way so beautifully complicated and incompletely. He was rude and careless and superior and John didn't know if there was ever a time when he wasn't. But he was also so damned alluring, so beautiful when he was unwound, to a state where he was cursing his praise under his breath and allowing John to pleasure him in a way no one else had. 

At the same time, Sherlock could see John was more than just some stupid rugby captain. He could feel it in John's movements, hear it in his voice and saw it in his eyes, John was caring. He felt the same way Sherlock did in that moment, so bloody in love, if not with Sherlock himself, then with his body. He was just as entranced as Sherlock was. At the end of this, when they'd both gotten off and went their own ways, there'd be no regrets. 

Sherlock had never experienced anything like that before. Never had he been so mind-blown, so full of pleasure that he couldn't see straight. It was new to him, it was overwhelming, and for a moment he didn't know just what was happening. "Captain," Sherlock moaned with tears in his eyes, "I'm so close." 

"Shh, it's alright, Sherlock," John said gently, caressing Sherlock's cheeks with his large hand. "Just let go." 

With a shudder, Sherlock reached his climax, a string of curse words trailing from his mouth in pleasure. He arched his back, pushing further into John, and John followed close behind him, Sherlock's name on his lips. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he remained upright. 

Sherlock untangled his legs from around John's waist, and John carefully pulled out of him. Both were a panting mess. Sherlock sat down on one of the benches, and John sat beside him. They looked at each other, and burst out laughing breathily. 

"That was..." John began. 

"Not too bad." 

"Not too bad?!" John laughed again. 

"I'm kidding. It was amazing." Sherlock shot John a genuine smile. John leaned in and kissed him. 

Pulling away, John pushed Sherlock's curly fringe from his face. "Thank you, Sherlock. You really are beautiful by the way." 

Sherlock blushed and bit his lip, looking away. John put his finger under Sherlock's chin and turned his face so they looked into each other's eyes once again. "You alright?" 

"Yeah, of course I am," Sherlock replied. "I just didn't expect anything like this to happen." 

"Do you regret it?" John asked, feeling a pang of anxiety in his chest. 

"Not in the slightest," Sherlock said earnestly before blushing again. 

"What?" John asked. 

"You have a love bite on your neck," Sherlock said sheepishly, feeling unbelievably embarrassed. 

John stood up, pulling on his pants and rugby shorts once more, however leaving his shirt off. He walked over to a mirror. "I have six. Nice. I'll look at them and be reminded of tonight." He turned and grinned at Sherlock. "I guess we're even." 

"What?" 

"You have three along your collarbone." 

Sherlock felt a spark of happiness. "Oh, cool. Then I'll remember tonight too." 

Being together felt like they'd known each other forever. "I like you, Sherlock," John said as he pulled on his rugby shirt again. "I'd like to take you out." 

"Take me out?" Sherlock repeated. 

"Yes. On a date. Will you go on a date with me?" 

"I've never been on a date with anyone before." 

"Then let me be your first for that too," John winked at Sherlock, who blushed as he pulled on his pants and trousers again and buttoned up his shirt. 

"Alright." 

The two walked out of the changing rooms together, still spent and happy in a companionable silence. 

John walked Sherlock back to his room, pressing a hasty, almost nervous kiss on the corner of Sherlock's mouth. The taller man smiled. "Thanks for tonight, it was fun." 

"Yes," John said, "I think so too. I'll see you tomorrow in class. I'll have a time and place for our date by then. See you later, gorgeous." 

"Bye," Sherlock smiled. He watched as John walked away, turning back to smile at him once before going around the corner. Sherlock supposed that was what teenage girls felt like whenever their crushes spoke to them. He decided he rather liked the feeling. 

John wandered back to his room with a grin on his face. When he got in, Mike, his best friend and roommate looked up at him from his laptop. Apparently John and Sherlock had been busy long enough for the rugby lads to clean themselves up, go into town and come back. Mike raised an eyebrow at John. "Where've you been?" 

"Just out." 

"You've got hickeys all over your neck. Who gave you those?" 

John grinned to himself, laughing at his own 'inside' joke. "Someone."


End file.
